CHAPTER VIII

The Revolt of Yellow-Claws

Hour after hour Gates had been watching his captors. Hour after hour he had been scheming, observing, hoping. With the heightened mental quickness of his paralyzed state, he was searching for a weak spot in the armor of the foe. "Surely," he reflected, "there must be some flaw that makes them vulnerable." And it was this thought that put him on the track of the wild idea that appeared to offer his only prospect of freedom.

By carefully following everything the invaders said and did, he was able to grasp the meaning of many words and phrases in their language. Even with his remarkable new rapidity of apprehension, he learned no more than a four-year-old might learn of English--yet this little went far, particularly as the enemy did not suspect that any mere earthling could be so intelligent.

But it was his eyes and not his ears that enabled him to fathom the secret of the Saturnians' greatest power: their ability to make themselves invisible. Whenever one of the monsters wished to vanish from sight, he merely dusted himself with a pale-blue powder from a purple-veined container. Evidently the powder--acting somewhat like a catalyzing agent--had the effect of causing the rays of light to pass completely through any object, thereby rendering it invisible. But did it make things invisible also to Saturnian eyes? The answer was in the affirmative: a Saturnian dusted with Amvol-Amvol could not be seen by any of his fellows, nor could the webs and cables, when concealed beneath this substance, be observed by their makers.

This was, however, of little importance to Red-Hood and his followers; for they relied upon sight much less than did human beings. They were guided largely by what they called the Communication Sense: certain vibrations in the air, set up by their tails, were recorded by a bulging organ just under the left ear of each of the creatures; and thus they were able to learn of their whereabouts and doings of their kindred even when they could not be seen.

So, at least, Gates concluded after long and careful observation. And his scheme for escape was built upon this knowledge.

* * * * *

But for a long while the plan did not take definite shape. And meanwhile he came to realize more keenly than ever how dangerous it would be to provoke his masters needlessly.

For they had surpassingly quick and violent tempers; their rage was, literally, like a tornado. Many a time Gates, lying helpless in paralysis on a web in the Planetoid, was the terrified witness to one of their disputes. He was seldom able to decide just what the quarrel was about, the first that he ever knew of it was when a blast like a siren ripped at his eardrums. Then other siren blasts would follow; then spouts of smoke would leap through the air, and the acridness of sulphur would torment his nostrils; then, if he were in a favored position, he would see the adversaries facing one another, their tails lashing the atmosphere in long loops and spirals, their octopus arms threshing and writhing, while the screeching and bellowing would rise to a crescendo as of battling fiends, and the eyes of the competitors would blaze with fiery red flashes.

There was one fight, in particular, which Gates would never forget. As usual, he had at first no idea of the cause; but the tumult this time was more diabolical than ever before. Paralyzed, he hung on a web several hundred feet above the floor of the Planetoid, in a grandstand position to view the affray. Among the lower meshes and cables, directly beneath him, Red-Hood stood amid steamy clouds of gas. And opposite him was an almost equally huge Saturnian, whose distinguishing features, as Gates saw it, was the clay-yellow coloration of his long tentacle-like claws.

For a tense minute the two creatures stood opposite one another, like bulls ready to charge. Then out shot Red-Hood's tail, striking with a crash against the rainbowed armor of the foe. And Yellow-Claws' breast was streaked with a golden-yellow spurt of blood; and crimson fires shot from his lips in curling tongues. Wrathfully his own tail lashed out, but missed his antagonist, who had leapt back with hair-trigger agility; while from Red-Hood's throat came such a howl that the very web trembled.

Gates was aware that a score of Saturnians stood watching intently below, at a safe distance, like spectators about a prize ring. He heard them whirring with excitement as the two opponents fended for positions. Then, to his astonishment, he saw Red-Hood springing forward, his octopus arms outspread, like some monster of a nightmare. Yellow-Claws was ready for the onslaught; and for a moment the two furies clashed, wrestling with hurricane vehemence ... so that they seemed little more than a gigantic whirl of squirming, rotating, threshing arms, legs and tails.

But soon, with an unearthly cry, one of the creatures detached himself, and with cyclonic speed darted up the web. So swiftly did he travel that at first Gates was unable to determine that it was Yellow-Claws that fled, while Red-Hood pursued close behind. Up and down and sideways along the web, with all manner of athletic twists and wrigglings, the embattled pair rushed, now scores of feet above the observer, now hundreds of feet beneath. Once Yellow-Claws lost his grip and fell, but, with gymnastic swiftness, clutched at a dangling cable, and saved himself barely in time. Once, slashed in the neck by Red-Hood's tail, he let out such a roar that Gates thought he had been slain. Once it was Red-Hood who, torn by his opponent's tail, yelled in agony. Several times the rivals were screened from one another amid smoke clouds.

Yet it was but a few minutes before the fight was over. Yellow-Claws, one of his arms almost half severed, waved his tail high in air, and uttered a shrill, "Wikyi! Wikyi! Wikyi!" ("I give up! I give up!") And Red-Hood, with a contemptuous snort, lashed out at him for a final time; and then, acknowledging the conclusion of peace, screamed triumphantly, and majestically stalked away.

* * * * *

But for hours the defeated giant sat on a web just below Gates, tending his wounds. His armor had lost its iridescence; thick smears of golden-orange covered its gashed surface. Yet Yellow-Claws' three-cornered eyes blazed with unsubdued anger; and his greenish-gray lips were twisted into grimaces of hate. Vengefully he muttered to himself, ignoring the presence of an earthling in the web above; vengefully he muttered three words, "Zugavl! Zugavl! Zug!"

Gates did not need to know the meaning of these expressions; from the manner in which they were uttered, he was sure that they boded no good for the Peerless Red One.

At about the same time, he made another important observation. Fighting was not the only bad habit of the Saturnians; they were subject to a far worse vice: that of inhaling Kishkash. This word, which was constantly on the monsters' lips, referred to the fumes from the burning of a certain dried leaf from Saturn. Nothing like it had ever been known on earth; a single whiff was enough to give Gates nausea; it had the foulest odor that had ever attacked his nostrils, being like the concentrated stench of putrefaction.

Yet to the Saturnians it was ambrosia. They never tired of sitting over little pots of the glowing substance, greedily drawing the smoke into their lungs, amid sighs and grunts of satisfaction. And the effect upon them was, to say the least, peculiar: after a time, they would fall into a stupor, and would lie on their backs on the floor, kicking their legs and lashing out with their arms and tails, evidently unable to control their own movements. Some of them, in fact, spent half their time in this state of delicious drunkenness.

It was from this fact that Gates hoped to profit. Eagerly he watched for his opportunity; and one day, when he was fortunately in a de-paralyzed state, the chance arrived. It had been a time of celebration, in commemoration of a Saturnian holiday, honoring the great hero Dupepu, who, it seems, had wiped out seventeen nations; and Kishkash, which was considered indispensable on all festal occasions, had been burned with exceptional lavishness. As a result, every visible Saturnian lay on the floor of the Planetoid, kicking up his heels, while whirring and mumbling the delicious nonsense of intoxication.

Here, Gates instantly realized, was a heaven-sent opportunity. Left unguarded for the first time, he crawled down from the swinging platform where he had been placed for safekeeping; and, risking his life on a long rope-ladder, made his way to a portion of the web featured by several round dangling purple pouches. In these bags, he had observed, the natives kept their Amvol-Amvol, the powder of invisibility. Once he had obtained this, his scheme would be already half consummated!

And what was to keep him from the Amvol-Amvol? Could he believe his senses?--believe that the precious substance was unwatched, and free for the taking? Yes! This seemed actually to be the case! Barring the remote possibility that one of the Saturnians would revive in time to interfere, there was nothing between him and his goal!

* * * * *

So down and down he climbed, along the interwoven meshes of swaying, shimmering cables; down like a seaman descending the riggings of a vessel. At length he had reached the pouches. The nearest of them, as large as a watermelon, was within arm's grasp. The top, moreover, was wide open! And, inside, he could see the sky-blue powder that for days he had dreamt of obtaining!

Yet for just a second he hesitated. He could not guess what it was that chilled his hand; that restrained for a moment his desire for the magical substance. Was it some voice of hidden warning? He could not say. He only knew that he laughed silently at himself; then, with reviving eagerness, shot his hand into the pale-blue dust.

The substance was downy soft to the touch, yet was cold as stone, and caused a tingling, faintly stinging sensation to creep along his skin. Hungrily his fingers closed over it; then, with a good handful in their clutch, began to withdraw.

But, as they did so, Gates was startled by a sudden grating noise, followed by a sharp click. And a violent pain shot through his wrist. Teeth of steel dug into his flesh; and, in horrible realization, he knew that he was caught!

[Illustration: The sharp jaws of the thing closed on Gates' hand.]

Yes, caught like a wild beast snared in a wolf-trap! It is hard to say whether, in that first stunned instant, his pain or his alarm was the greater. Yet his mind at once took in the full dread import. The pouch was but a ruse; it was equipped with hidden jaws, which would close at the faintest touch, seizing the unwary intruder. Oh, why had he not had the brains to beware?

From the first, he saw that escape would be impossible. Those cruel jaws were so made that the more he struggled, the more tightly his arm would be wedged between them, and the more intense his agony--if he were not careful, his other wrist would be caught too! Knowing that he would be fettered here until his masters revived from their intoxication; and knowing also the terrible tempers of the tribe, he concluded that he would be better off dead.

It was as this thought bored at his brain that he heard a sound to his left. Low, stealthy, secretive, it yet had a vaguely familiar whirr. "Earthling, listen to me!"

His heart gave a convulsive leap. He felt that his last moment had come. So he had not been alone after all, had not been unguarded! One of his captors, garbed in invisibility, had been watching him, following his every movement, gloating in his helplessness as a cat gloats in the sufferings of a mouse!

"Earthling, listen to me!"

The words had been repeated, in the same stealthy manner.

"For God's sake, who are you?" the prisoner found courage to gasp.

"Soon I shall say. First, let me free you from your misery."

* * * * *

There came a snapping sound; the steel jaws clattered apart; and Gates, to his astonishment, withdrew a bruised and bleeding wrist.

"The lower animals should not meddle with tools they do not understand!" mumbled the unseen. "By my home-world's outer ring! you did not pull down the safety clasp before sticking in your hand!"

"But who--who in blazes are you?" repeated the captive, becoming bolder, although he could not believe that he had been freed for any good purpose.

"Who am I?" The speaker paused long enough for a burst of low whirring laughter. "I am Misthrumb, though that means nothing to you. I am he who fought yesterday with the Peerless Red One, and was driven off, may the curse of the Nine Planets fall on his foul bosom!"

"Oh--you mean, Yellow-Claws?"

"Yellow-Claws? Well, you may call me that, for my hands are of the soil yellow of royalty! My blood too is yellow, golden-yellow! I am as high-born as the Peerless Red One. Was I not designated by the Grand Potentate, the Barbelcoppi, to share the leadership of this expedition? And has the Peerless One not denied me at every turn?--yes, may the demons of every vile disease prey on his liver!"

Not knowing what to reply, Gates said nothing. But hope, dead only a minute before, had revived within him.

"As if he had not already injured me enough," went on the invisible, "he ordered me to keep away from the great festival of Dupepu, whereat all my brothers make merry. Forbidden me to enjoy the delectable, sacred fumes of Kishkash! For that he shall suffer!"

Yellow-Claws' tones, rasping and angry, indicated that the feud between the giants was far deeper than Gates has suspected. "And when I saw you creeping toward the Amvol-Amvol, O nignig, I knew that you would be the tool of my vengeance!"

"Me?" groaned the victim. Had he escaped the frying pan only to be plunged into the fire?

"Have no fear, earthling! My purpose matches your own. To be sure, there are perils--appalling perils! Not to master them is to die a horrible death. But to prevail is to escape from the Peerless Red One--and to repay him in full measure for his crimes against us both. Are you ready to take the risk, O earthling?"

"I am ready!"

"By the stars! That is more than I would have expected of one of your species! Then let us begin! We have but a little time before my brothers recover from the Kishkash."

Gates could not see the creature's yellow claws as they entered the pouch and drew out a pale-blue powder. But he felt something soft, cool and tingling being sprinkled over his hands, his face, up his sleeves, and down his neck. And he had one of the strangest sensations of his life; for his body, even as he gazed at it, faded into a haze, and vanished. He could look through himself! could see the meshwork of shimmering cables as if there were nothing between!

"Come!" whispered his protector. "There is no time to lose!" And then angrily, beneath his breath, "Zugavl! Zugavl! Zug!"

Upheld and guided by Yellow-Claws--since his arms and legs, now that he could not see them, seemed oddly unreliable--Gates started once more down the web, above the spot where the intoxicated monsters, like huge over-turned beetles, lay on their backs with furiously wriggling tentacles, legs and tails.